


je te verrai encore, dans une autre vie

by ellispage21



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AHH, AU, Angst, Canon Era, Drinking, Feelings, M/M, Magic, Pain, This is really sad, im sorry, no like really sad, this started as a comedy and now im crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:43:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellispage21/pseuds/ellispage21
Summary: “who is it tonight?” the barman had asked her, “Enjolras,” she replied, wiping her lips with the back of her hand and picking up some empty glasses to be washed.in which everyone falls in love with Enjolras, and Grantaire is waiting for them.





	je te verrai encore, dans une autre vie

Honestly, Éponine hadn’t meant to spike _all_ of the wine, just the one that Marius was going to drink. She had spent the afternoon at a folk festival that Gavroche and his friends wanted to go to, and had been coaxed into buying what the seller marketed as ‘love potion’. She had read the ingredients on her way to the bar, not really understanding what was in it, but she hadn’t seen any poison on the list, so figured it would be worth a shot. _These things never work,_ she thought, pouring a tablespoon into the first bottle, and stirring. It wasn’t until she had pulled on her apron that she realised that she wasn’t actually sure which wine Marius would drink. She sighed loudly, taking the spoon in her hand again, _a little bit in each won’t hurt anybody._ When she took a sip to test that the taste was indistinguishable, she promptly forgot the last instruction on the maroon bottle. “Who is it tonight?” the barman had asked her, “Enjolras,” she replied, wiping her lips with the back of her hand and picking up some empty glasses to be washed.

The last instruction would have told her that the first name you say after drinking will be the object of your adoration.

 

Combeferre was the first to feel it, other than Éponine who had found herself staring longingly at Enjolras as he pranced around the Musain, arms full of ideas. His head felt suddenly heavy, as though he had drunk cough syrup, but he had only had one glass of wine. The leader paused in front of him, concern furrowing his brow, “’Ferre?”

“Enjolras,” he replied, “I think I just need some air.”

Enjolras nodded, standing straight once more, “very well, Courfeyrac will accompany you.” He beckoned the smaller man over, “will you do something for me?”

“Anything, ‘Ras.” All three blinked in confusion, nobody ever shortened his name. Courfeyrac caught himself, “erm, sorry. I… I don’t know quite where that came from. I think I’ve had too much wine.”

Enjolras nodded again, “you both need to go outside for a few minutes.” He said sternly.

As they left, he could have sworn he felt the burning of their eyes on the side of his face, but he shook the thought away.

 

After twenty minutes, he had gained seven more admirers. All of the Amis were crowded around a single table, gazing up at Enjolras as he spoke, not listening to a word he was saying. Marius shook his head, “what is going on?” he whispered to Grantaire, who was sat with him at the bar. “Maybe they’re just really passionate about collegiate reforms,” he said dryly, making Marius laugh. “Now, we both know that isn’t true.”

“Are you not drinking tonight?” Grantaire asked, pouring himself his fifth cup of wine. Something about it was different, it was a bit sweeter, maybe. He would have to keep drinking until he figured it out. “No,” Marius replied, “Enjolras and I have a lecture early in the morning.”

“That’s fair,” Grantaire shrugged, “what classes do you and Enjolras share?” Saying his name made his mouth taste strange, but he paid no attention to it. “French law, and philosophy. He is irritatingly good at both.” “Of course, he is,” it was Grantaire’s turn to laugh now, “he has a brain bigger than Socrates himself.”

 

By 9pm, Enjolras had been offered three bouquets of flowers, Joly’s hand in marriage, two separate dates to the opera, and a kiss. He declined them all, though he did allow Bossuet to kiss his hand, and sat down next to Marius. The other Amis sat with them, talking amongst themselves mainly, but always bringing their eyes back to Enjolras. He could feel himself blushing, the soft red rising from his chest up to his ears painfully slowly.

“What is going on, is this some sort of joke?” he asked Marius quietly, but he shook his head, “I don’t know, but it’s definitely-”

“Hey,” Grantaire slurred, cutting him off by dropping heavily onto the chair opposite them, “do you know where Combeferre went?”

“He’s coming this way now,” said Marius, spotting him pushing his way over. They watched as he banged two cups together, making everyone turn their heads. “Everybody stop!” he shouted, “who has had the wine?” Enjolras watched as over half of the room raised their hands, “what is the matter, ‘Ferre?” he hissed, annoyed at the night’s interruption.

Combeferre ignored him, “ _somebody,”_ he glared at an ashamed Éponine, “has spiked our drinks. Who here is currently thinking about Enjolras? Be it caressing, kissing, or simply admiring him.”

Enjolras watched again in horror as those same hands came up, his mouth opening slightly in shock when he saw Grantaire’s elbow resting on the table, hand in the air by his head. Marius, too, appeared surprised. It was not a secret that Grantaire had flirted shamelessly with Enjolras, but he flirted with everyone, didn’t he? Grantaire seemed to hear their innermost thoughts, turning his head away from Combeferre and smirking at Enjolras.

“My point is,” Combeferre continued, “that this is not normal. We must push those feelings down, to the corners of our minds. He is our admirable leader, our brother, and our friend. He is not an object that we can fantasise about.”

This made Grantaire laugh, taking a sip from his glass, his eyebrows raised at Enjolras. “That’s never stopped me,” he muttered, knowing he could hear him. Enjolras rolled his eyes, focusing on Combeferre, suddenly unable to hear anything other than Grantaire’s mutters to himself, something about pushing him and walls, and Enjolras realised he had gone red again.

 

As the night broke, people started to calm down. The effects of the wine were wearing off, but there was something on Courfeyrac’s mind. He excused himself from where he was sat with Enjolras and Marius, making his way to the far side of the bar, where Grantaire was laughing loudly with his friends. “May I have a word?” he whispered into his ear, and Grantaire nods. “Gentlemen,” he addressed his friends, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Outside, the air was refreshingly cold, the opposite of the humid bar. “Grantaire, you drank the wine tonight, didn’t you?”

“The vast majority of it,” Grantaire says, proud of his achievements, “it tasted different, but it worked all the same.”

“Yes, well,” said Courfeyrac, “your behaviour it’s… it is the same.”

“Yes,” Grantaire frowned, “of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because we are all in love with Enjolras, have you not noticed?” it was Courfeyrac’s turn to be confused, “we are falling over ourselves for him, and yet you are no different than you were yesterday. Tell me, you drank the same wine as we did?”

“Yes, Éponine gave me the same bottle that you drank from.”

“Oh,” said Courfeyrac, because that’s all he really could say. He realised then what he imagined Grantaire had realised long ago. “And… he knows?”

“No,” Grantaire laughed, “for a clever man, he remains oblivious to my feelings. It is all the better I imagine,” he leant back on the wall behind him, “why settle for one star when you could conquer the universe?”

“Don’t speak about yourself like that. Blowing out your own candle won’t make his burn brighter.” Courfeyrac took a step forward, his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders, and Grantaire is forced to make eye-contact. “I’m just tired.”

“There are two types of tired, and you sleep enough for me to know it’s not the first type.”

“I’m drunk right now,” Grantaire explains, his voice starting to crack, “and he is all I can think about. And I know you think you feel the same at the moment but you don’t. You will wake up and those feelings will be gone.”

“And you?” Courfeyrac pushes gently. “And I will wake up heavier than lead.” Grantaire sighed.

“Everything okay?” Enjolras asks, appearing quite suddenly behind Courfeyrac, “you have been gone a while.”

Courfeyrac smiled knowingly at Grantaire, “yes. I’ll leave you two.”

 

Enjolras watched him return to his seat through the window, then turned to Grantaire. “Is something troubling you?”

Grantaire offered him a weak smile, “not at all. Tell me, how is your ego coping with this attention?” Enjolras scoffed, “it is not something I dislike, but I’m more used to it from…”

“From women? I understand.” Grantaire’s heart started to ache, and he had to force himself not to grimace, but Enjolras noticed. “No,” he said softly, “no, Grantaire I-”

“You do not have to explain yourself, women fall at your feet. I have seen it with my own eyes.” He shifted his gaze from Enjolras to his own hands, gripping onto the metal railing by his side. Enjolras tried again, “that’s not-”

“Forgive me, I am a drunkard. The things I say offend without my intention.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras snapped in frustration, “I am more used to it from _you_.”

 

They said nothing for a short time, then Grantaire let out a small “oh.” He wanted to apologise, to reassure Enjolras that he did not have to reciprocate, an unrequited love is not a problem he couldn’t handle, but before he could, Enjolras turned sharply on his heels and marched inside, his cheeks red, tears in his eyes that Grantaire had not seen in the dark. Grantaire turned outwards, leaning on the railings in front of him. He looked up at the night sky, and closed his eyes, swaying slightly as the alcohol continued to course through his veins. "I am a fool," he whispered to nobody, "but I am only a fool for you."

 

Half an hour had passed before Courfeyrac came to fetch Grantaire. He found him in the same position, the soft wind tussling his hair. He cleared his throat, startling Grantaire.  
"I have spoken... with Enjolras." He heard Grantaire swallow, but carried on, "how do you feel?"  
"My heart is sore, but I am still standing."  
Courfeyrac nods, because he understands his plight. They fell in love with different people, at completely different times. It was a different boy that he had loved, it was a different fight, but it was the same love they felt, and the same hurt. Perhaps, he was not in love with Enjolras, but he understood what it felt like to be.  
"Did it not kill you to keep that secret for so long?" He eventually asked, stepping forward to stand next to him. Grantaire closed his eyes again, "no more than everything else that was killing me."  
"I see. You are hurting, but with no wounds."  
Grantaire nodded, feeling the tears in his eyes as he opened them to look at his friend, "but what kind of wound is that, one that does not bleed?"  
Courfeyrac smiled sadly, and sighed, "it is the kind that does not heal."

Grantaire let go of the metal rail and turned to face Courfeyrac, "what did he say, to you?"  
He let his shoe slide along the concrete of the ground, the dragging sound the only noise they could hear, "I think maybe he should be the one to tell you." He felt Grantaire's hand on his arm, and looked into his eyes, "Grantaire, if the scars on your body can heal, then so can your heart."  
"Do you think he would talk to me, now?"  
Courfeyrac nods slowly, pulling himself gently away from Grantaire's grasp, "He is leaving in a moment. If you wait here, you will catch him."  
He turned to go inside, but stopped just before the door, "If... Grantaire, don't let this..." he drummed his fingers on the doorframe, "someone will come along. It might not be him, but it will be someone. Someday."

 

There was not enough time in the world to prepare Grantaire for seeing Enjolras again. Their earlier conversation was still raw, and bitter in his mouth.  
"Enjolras," he says hurriedly when he sees him open the door, "I... Courfeyrac-"  
"I know." Enjolras replied, pulling his coat tighter around him, "I have a few things I need to say. And then you will say something, I am currently unsure what, and then... and then I will go to bed."

 

Grantaire nodded, that seemed like a good plan. Their steps fell into synchronisation as they walked next to each other, and Enjolras avoided his eyes.  
"The things that we discussed before, I-I was not surprised. I have never... I am not an expert in this area. I suppose what I'm trying to tell you is..."  
He put his hands into his pockets, and turned his head to the left so that Grantaire couldn't see his face. "For a long time, I was not sure if I wanted you around. At the Musain, I could not tell if I was wishing for more of you, or for you to disappear completely. You made me feel things so violently, and nothing had stirred me in such a way before. I am sorry, Grantaire, if you ever felt that I did not like you, I do. I consider you to be one of my closest friends. You must know that I feel nothing but love for you. I see the way that you are happy with the other boys, the way your eyes shine, the way you smile, and laugh. And I ask myself why you do not look at me like that. I would give anything, to see you smile like that when you look at me, but you don't. That is why I reacted so strongly to your presence, because I wanted so desperately to make you happy, and when I couldn't do that, I made you sad instead. I just wanted to make you feel something, anything, for me."

 

Grantaire stopped walking, choosing instead to sit down on the pavement. Enjolras spun to face him, the gold buttons on his red jacket glinting in the moonlight.  
"I was afraid at the start, to look back and see the memory of you that I was so enamoured with. To think that perhaps I will never stop feeling this way. I was afraid to love you, and now I am afraid to stop. I do not know, Enjolras, what there would be inside me if someone were to remove my feelings for you." Enjolras moved to sit next to him, and motioned for him to continue. "I fear that there would be nothing, so I fill myself with alcohol. I have loved before, and I have been broken. I do not think that I would survive being broken by you."

 

"What is it like, to love me?" Enjolras asked, placing his hands onto his knees, "it is like being exhumed," Grantaire answered, "and brought back to life in a flash of brilliance."  
Enjolras took this in, and then shifted a few centimetres closer, taking one of Grantaire's calloused hands in his own, "and what is it like to be loved in return?"

Grantaire smiled, noticing how blue Enjolras' eyes were, "it is like being seen after a perpetual darkness. Like being heard after a lifetime of silence."

He swallowed, and then curled his fingers through Enjolras'. "We could be great, you and I."  
Enjolras smiled, a dimple appearing on his cheek, "yes," he agreed, "yes, we could be."  
"And..." Grantaire hesitated, "and will we be?"  
Enjolras squeezed his hand, "in another life, we will rule the world. In another time, we will be unstoppable. But not this one."  
He stands, dusting the tails of his jacket, "I should go in," he said, to which Grantaire agreed.  
"I'll see you tomorrow,"  
"I'll see you in another life," Grantaire replied, a small smile on his lips. He waved to Enjolras, and turned to go home.

 

"Dear Lord, please." He whispers to himself, "in the next life, in every life, I pray I get to know him. I pray I get to love him."

The gunshot sounded, momentarily disrupting the early morning's silence, and the world was still once more. When the Amis found him that afternoon, the smile was still visible. The note he had clutched in his fist read 'do not fret, I have not left. I am waiting for you all in another life, one in which we can be great. I will see you there.'

**Author's Note:**

> all I can say is I'm sorry


End file.
